Night of the Vodka Moon
by Wijida
Summary: (C/G pairing!) Catherine spends a few nights at home without Lindsey...and she isn't spending those nights alone...and eventually, even that routine changes...


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**Disclaimer: CSI belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer and his lot at CBS.**

Night of the Vodka Moon

By Manda

She woke up close to midnight that evening, glancing at the clock before rolling out of bed and plodding down the hallway. Lindsey had elected to spend New Years Eve with a friend from school, leaving Catherine to spend the night without her in the half-furnished bungalow. After Eddie had left, she'd never really gotten around to buying more furniture, and Eddie had left what she'd needed to get by.

                It was peculiar to be alone at night, or to be home at all when the moon was out and the neighborhood was quiet. Her body had become all too accustomed to sleeping through doors slamming, dogs barking and Lindsey taking her shower at seven a.m. Mrs. Hathaway was always ready next door with a steaming bowl of oatmeal, if Catherine had asked for her services the night before, and Lindsey would tiptoe in to bestow a light kiss upon her mother's cheek before scooting out the door. Catherine always looked forward to that moment, and found herself wistfully imagining a job which would allow her to be awake to accept Lindsey's hasty kiss. 

                She moved into the kitchen and retrieved a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator, then arched her feet and brought down the bottle of vodka perched far back at the top of the appliance. Lindsey knew her mother would drink, on occasion, but Catherine preferred to keep the unacceptable beverages far from view and out-of-reach from prying eyes.

                "Catherine? What are you doing?"

                "Jesus!" She leapt onto her toes, hand halfway to the knife drawer as she felt a hand settle gently upon her shoulder. "Grissom, it's almost midnight. What are you doing awake?"

                "I should ask you the same thing." In sandals and sweatpants, Gil Grissom was far from the professional he seemed at the office, smoothing down his sleep-ruffled hair with one hand, fingers gently combing the salt-and-pepper strands. The colors of his hair betrayed his youthful demeanor, giving the impression that he was much older than his personnel file read. Catherine knew the truth…she knew his age, his birthday, better than she remembered her own at times. "Couldn't sleep?"

                "No. Funny…I only have insomnia on my nights off. And yours, it's seems." She poured generous splashes of juice and alcohol into a crystal tumbler and stirred it meticulously with her finger, before offering him the moist digit with a crooked smile. "Are you sure you're not tired of getting up at midnight to walk the floors with me, Gil?"

                "Catherine…there's nothing I'd rather do with you. You know that." He took her finger between his lips and could taste the salt on her skin, a peculiar combination with vodka and citrus. She always had a screwdriver at midnight, when she woke up and left him alone in the cool, silk sheets, drowning in a sea of robin's egg blue. He always told her that her eyes were the same color, and she would deny it, resulting in a heated debate about whose eyes were closer to what shade of blue. His, according to Catherine, were the color of a storm-tossed sea, mirroring the storms raging in his mind between evidence and theory.  "And right now, I'd rather see you taking advantage of your night off and sleeping."

                "But you know that's never going to happen. It never does." She padded across the kitchen in her bare feet and made her way toward the living room, Grissom taking the time to put away the beverages before tagging behind. She was curled up on the overstuffed ivory sofa, nestled between a mass of teal pillows with delicate fingers wrapped around her drink. She looked tired and vulnerable, sometimes, when he would find her there at night. When he would inquire she would deny anything and everything, trying to lose herself in the vodka and within his deep blue eyes as he would sit before her and hold her hands, thumbs stroking over the soft skin with affection. She never wanted a kiss, not until she'd finished her drink and was half asleep, when he would gather her in his arms and shuffle off to bed. When the sheets and comforter were tucked around her, her newly spiraled hair splayed over the aquamarine feather pillows…then, he would kiss her. 

                It was always in that order. But tonight, something changed. 

                "Would you marry me, Gil Grissom?" She looked up at him, blond hair falling over one eye and hiding the sparkling orb from view. Catherine could appear beautiful in shorts and a t-shirt, in a hospital gown or a ball gown…Grissom had seen her wear most of these, and could never conclude which he liked best. But at that moment he found her amazing, stunning and breathtaking beyond his ability to comprehend, as she sat on the couch in her fitted white t-shirt and star-covered pajama pants.  

                "Catherine…"

                "Grissom....We've been doing this for months now, staying at your townhouse or my bungalow. Neither one of us wanting to admit it, or say it…but we're in love. We're more in love than you are with your bugs, or I am with every blood splatter that comes my way."

                "I don't know." He perched on the edge of the sofa and took her hand, folding it into his. The delicate fingers were nearly covered, and she wound them through his larger ones, smiling at the contact. "There are times when I just can't imagine anything more than a carpet beetle as my one true love."

                "And when those blood splatters form that perfect arc…its poetry." Catherine quipped, her smile as flattering to her face as a rainbow was to a cloudy sky. "But I can't marry a blood splatter. I can't watch it make me breakfast at two o'clock in the morning, I can't listen to it plodding across the kitchen floor in those god-awful leather sandals….and I can't depend on it to be there next to me when I crawl into bed in the morning. And," She leaned forward, setting her tumble atop a rosewood coffee table and moving her lips closer to his ear. "I don't imagine a carpet beetle would do the same for you, Gil Grissom."

                "No, probably not." Grissom brought her hand to his lips and kissed the inside palm, skin as soft as he'd imagined a rose petal to be after a summer rain. Thinking of Catherine every day had once been enough...seeing her walk through his office door and smile at the off-tune crooning of Billy Bass…those moments had almost sustained him for a time.  But nights of holding her close, days of drawing her into his arms for a passionate kiss had led him to believe that there was more in life than entomology…even if his mentor and his research had attempted to prove otherwise. He'd contemplated the approach Catherine had chosen to take, once, but bringing Sara into the fold had retarded that train of thought for quite some time. Someone young, a fresh infusion of blood into the graveyard shift…his prized pupil basked in his affection and attention, and returned it with great fervor. But it hadn't been enough…it hadn't been as good to him as Catherine's easy smiles and the scent of her honeydew melon shampoo mixing with the circulating air in his office.

                "You could use a few butterflies mounted on the walls," He commented, glancing at the bare living room barriers, white surfaces holding a few pieces of art, but nothing more. Catherine's high school diploma, the notice of her promotion to C.S.I Level three…a picture of she and Lindsey in the locker room at the Crime Lab. Taken by Grissom, by the request of the younger Willows. Catherine nodded, bringing her head back and staring at him intently.

                "Then is that an acceptance I hear coming, Gil Grissom?"

                "It could be interpreted as that, Catherine." She pressed her lips to his, arms wrapping tightly around his neck as he returned the embrace and pulled her to him. "Does Lindsey want this?"

                "She's the one who suggested that I ask." A mischievous twinkle manifested itself in Catherine's eyes, and Grissom found himself deeply immersed within them. Despite knowing that now he would have this woman for the rest of his life, and be able to stare into those eyes day after day…he found the gaze even more captivating than he once had. "And she's also the one who's been running around the house for the past day, shouting my name."

                "Your name?" Grissom's right eyebrow rose in query, and Catherine let out a soft chuckle.

                "Catherine Grissom. She seems to think that there's a ring to it. And," Her lips touched his again, hands slipping down to grasp his tightly. "I think I agree. I think that I'd be proud to be a Grissom…if that means I get to love you for the rest of my life."

                "Well, then," Grissom pulled her into his arms and rose, smothering the shriek that emitted from the parted lips. "I suppose we'll be redoing your personnel file in the morning, Catherine Willows."

                "Catherine Grissom." She corrected him, the stern expression on her face betrayed by the mirthful twinkle in her eyes. "And don't forget…we'll be redoing yours as well."

                "It just might have to be an all nighter." Grissom swung her up higher, and headed to the bedroom. "And I doubt the government will pay this overtime."

                -End


End file.
